I don’t know about you, but I am pathetically apolitical. Really. Hate the stuff. Doubled with the fact that I don’t know anything about politics, AND as I have mentioned, I am without heart, and very very mean, its almost like I’m Super Apolitical Girl. I’m having a cape made.

I do think Marc Acito has a point. I think we should keep that point in mind.

Senator Craig did a Very Bad Thing. Is it wrong for me, however, to NOT care if he is or isn’t gay? And, do I just not care because he isn’t my Senator? Because I had a whole post up until about 3 minutes ago which expounded on the fact that I didn’t give a rip. Then good ole BH had to open his mouth and ask if I would feel like I was hoodwinked if my Pastor was arrested for porn. Would that make me feel like I was completely taken advantage of by this person saying he was one thing, but being found out to be something else?

And, yeah. That would piss me off. So there. Lets just chock this whole thing up to Super Apolitical Girl’s political prowess and call it good.

I cannot count the times that I have come back to this post and edited it. My heart is a blackened piece of charcoal tonite, friends. There are no niceties coming from my mouth.

I think it has a lot to do with the fact that we had dinner at Cheeseburger in Paradise tonite. Paradise my ass. I think we waited an hour for our food. I assure you there were no mangos on my cheesecake. Bastards.

In other news…its Football Season. I could not be any more excited. Can you tell? What with all the exclamation points and whatnot?

And? I must give a shout out to my girl Erin who absolutely made my freaking day today.

Oh sweet heaven, and do I ever love it. Oh! There are no words! Well, there are, and I will tell them to you.

I love to smoke in my car. I love to turn Timbaland up so loud that the bass is giving me a back massage, and smokity smoke smoke smoke. GAH!

When Denis Leary said he was trying to quit a little part of me died inside.

I love the way a cigarette feels in my hand. Thats the best part for me. And then? When you haven’t had one in a while, and then you DO have one? Oh, you don’t even know how you possibly have not had one in the last 8 hours.

I love the lighter, or the match. I love the rush of thinking you do not have a lighter or a match, and then, after digging through your monstrosity of a bag, you FIND ONE! Complete exhilaration. Joy!

And, I love OTHER smokers. Whenever I meet someone who smokes, I want to immediately give them a Badge that says Fuck You, Everybody Else!!! And, then I want to be bff’s with them. Its a bond. It really is. If you don’t smoke? You have no idea. We are our own sub culture.

I will tell you how I started smoking. I worked at a camp for the summer between my first and second years in college. A christian camp that I went to as a camper. I loved this camp. Still do. I will tell you though? Send your kid there; great experience. Utter Fundom. But know this: at night when your 8th-11th grade children are sleeping in their bunks? Staffers are on the shores of Lake Michigan smoking pot and getting drunk. Not me, of course. Seriously. I was extremely virginal until my SECOND year in college.

HOWEVER, some of the girls I knewwould “smoke when they drank”. Oh, good Lord. Don’t be a pussy, okay. Either smoke or do not. This is one thing I do not ride the fence about. Make. A. Commitment.

And, so then yeah. That’s when it started. Then I read Still Life With Woodpecker by Tom Robbins. These people smoked Camels. So, then, did I. (see how easily swayed I am?)

I do not smoke Camels anymore.

And, I don’t smoke ever in front of Holden or at home. Mostly because I do not want to get caught by him. Why? Oh, because “people who smoke are doing drugs and drugs are illegal.” Because he is wise beyond my years.

And, yes. I realize what this is doing to my body. And, yes, I do know that my mother has cancer, and What In The World Am I Thinking!

I know, I know, I know, I know.

Shuddap already!

I’m trying. I am. I AM.

I think Cool Beans thought this would be cathartic for me. But really? Just made me want to have a cigarette.

This is what I am doing now: PMSing. Up at 2:36am. Can’t sleep, too hot. Even though I’m fairly certain that it is seven below zero outside. Gah.

I used to watch reruns of Roseanne on Nick at Nite when I woke up at this time of morning. Now? Oh, I have YOU internets! You are so fabulous!

The older I get, the weirder my body is. After I turned thirty I started breaking out. Never before had I ever gotten a pimple. Not even during puberty. Thanks God! I do so love being a Thirty Two Year Old Thirteen Year Old. Its totally awesome.

And, I get night sweats all of the sudden. I know. Sexy!

I also undulate between raging lunatic and weepy woman when pmsing. This week? You are witnessing Crybaby Jen aka Jen Who Is Feeling Sorry for Herself. And, I hate this jen. She is a big baby and she is pissing me off!

In the car this evening I started crying over Ben Harper. Now, he usually makes me cry. I heart him, and he has the voice of a thousand angels. I don’t really hold it against him that he is married to Laura Dern. Hey. She’s not my bag of potatoes, okay? But, Ben. If you love her, I love you for loving her.

(See internets? Ben and I? We are like this.)

But, the song wasn’t really even about anything sad. It was about Loving Someone. And, because, I? I love someone? Yeah, lets cry about that, shall we? Yes indeed we shall.

Also? I lose the ability to cook. And, I am a pretty good cook. Look at my husband! He is a pretty good eater of the food I cook. But tonite? Oh, I forget how to make RICE. Yes. I know. 2 cups water to 1 cup rice. Der, right? Only tonite it was 1 cup water to 1 cup rice. You cannot fix this problem, internets. Especially if you find out you’ve done this AFTER the twenty minute cooking time is over. SO. There goes that. And, that was gonna be some tasty rice, too.

And, I get extremely self conscious. No. Thats not the word I’m looking for…Usually? I’m not a dweller. Crap happens; move on. I don’t generally feel sorry for myself, and I don’t complain about stuff that I can help myself.

I say to myself, “Self? Do you have cancer? NO???? You don’t? Then shut up and exercise or something, okay? Good.”

Seriously, this is what happens in my head.

But, pms causes me to break from my normal self, and I’m all like…Oh I’m so bloaty and Ugh, my hair, and blah blah blah. It disgusts even my own self. Gah. And, I get so neeeedy. GEEEZ. In my head Im all like Is he mad at me? Is she mad at me? PUKE!!

I need to get a hold of myself here. And, when I need to get a hold of myself, I like to make lists! Lists are even better than Roseanne!! Lists keep order in the house. I find that I am even more OCD every day…Here’s a list of stuff that I keep telling myself that I’m going to start doing and then never actually do it.

1. Get Up Early and Exercise.

2. Quit that habit I have once and for all. Even though I don’t really want to quit doing this thing. Because I love this thing and I want to marry it. But, I have to quit doing it cuz its a nasty little habit even though I hardly ever do it anymore.

3. Have Holden write a little in his journal EVERYDAY! He needs to work on focusing on the task at hand. School is almost starting. (Oh, ps. Internets? Holden hates to write. This is because he thinks he is not good at it, so he doesn’t even like to try. He’d rather do math, or read. Because that’s easy. SO, do you have any suggestions on how to help him like to write a little more? Or focusing on writing? I am all ears.)

4. Buy a pair of jeans that fit.

OR

5. Quit eating entire loaves of homeade bread. That might help.

6. Go to the eye doctor. I mean seriously. You can’t even SEE anything.

7. Um. Send that check to NPR already!

8. Sew something. You have the machine. You have the material. Do it. Do it NOW!

Okay. I’m having sleepy time now. Thank you for helping me through this bit of insomnia.

Well, then, I guess it would only be fitting to say Sound of Music. I’m so sorry ladies, but I’m loving the linkies lately.

BH tells me constantly how funny it is that I LOVE everything. Oh, I loooove this, and I looooove that! I do. Can’t help it, its just the eternal sunshine of my spotless mind. I’m a happy person, and I love to love stuff. Even more, I love to love trivial stuff. Aha!

So, as I was washing my face this morning with this fabulous wonderment of modern facial treatments, I thought I would share with all of you the Things That I Absolutely Adore.

I know. You could not have waited for this any longer.

I love the makeup. I love even more that my husband prefers me without it. He’s cute, huh? Too bad the days of Jennifer Without Mascara are over. Too bad for him!

Revlon is wonderful. I cannot say this enough. It makes me feel prettier just walking down the Revlon aisle. I bought this blush, and I want to marry it. So pretty. And Golden. Oh!

I absolutely adore our bed. This has a lot to do with it. Also, this. Its like sleeping in between two clouds. Heaven. PLUS, we have a king size bed. Do you have one? Oh, get one. BH and I are in different TIME ZONES in this bed. I love him and all, but I love me the sleepy time too. This bed is what keeps our marriage together. Oh. Get your minds out of the gutter.

I cook. And, for years, I cooked on crappy hand me down pots and pans. Until my grandma bought me a griddle, and cast iron skillet. My life really hasn’t been the same since. I’m a whole different person with cast iron. I use some random pot to boil water. But the majic? It happens in the skillet, girls.

BH and I are big magazine readers. I see us in our old age with mags piled up all over the place with just a narrow walkway to get to the bathroom. This is what will become of us. My favorite is In Style. This month? The issue was like two inches thick, and I am not even exaggerating. The best part of these magazines, to me, is the advertisments. All the models sporting Dior and Gucchi, and they all look either bored out of their gourds or pissed off as all hell.

My favorite thing to watch as a comedy, though it is not meant to be one is CSI Miami. Trust me, its ten times more fun if viewed as though they are trying to make you laugh. That dude is effing funny, okay?

My favorite movie to watch if I wake up before any body else on Saturday mornings is The Royal Tenenbaums. My mom bought it for me for Christmas one year, and it is the best packaged movie I own. There’s a drawing of the set in the movie box. Its great all around fun.

I’m also really into High School Musical. Trust me. If you click nothing else, you want to clicky this click. I know. I’ve got some problems. I’m working those issues out.

Any way. There. I feel like I’ve accomplished something, and now all of you want to go get some lip gloss. Good enough for a Saturday, I think.

On my way home from work today, my very favorite radio station that plays music (I’m an NPR JUNKIE. Seriously. I don’t hear my puzzler on Sunday morning? Someone’s gonna pay.) the DJ announced they were going to play a Flashback…From deep warpy voice...1992.

What? I was 17 then. When did I become vintage??!!

The song was Friday I’m In Love by The Cure. I remember hearing that song while driving around town with my boyfriend, Mark. It was probably a Tuesday, but I WAS in love.

Youth.

I’m sure this is true for most of us, but I directly correlate Feelings with Music. The whole of Joshua Tree makes me think of driving in the country in Andy Smith’s convertable. With or Without You puts me right back in 1993, the summer after I graduated high school, top down (not mine I assure you; my chastity belt was still tightly bolted at that time), looking up at the night sky. Stars shone so much brighter when I was 18.

Whenever I hear Everytime You Go Away by Paul Young, I think of my grandparents leaving on a mission trip. My mom always used to sing that to us while my grandparents were away, and we would cry and miss them.

The Smiths make me think of Shannon. As do Dead Milkmen, Indigo Girls, Liz Phair (Oh friends, this last one is rated NC-17, but I couldn’t help it. Liz Phair,before she had a baby, IS everything I loved when I was in college…She’s all happy now, and therefore, sucks.), and Henry Rollins.

I love John Cusak, or as Chuck Klosterman would tell me, you know, if he knew me, and I shared this idea with him, the idea of John Cusak. This song reminds me of all that was Good in the late eighties.

When BH and I FINALLY got married two years ago, we opted for a small wedding. I walked down the aisle to this music by Ben Harper. I’m not real sure what’s going on in this video, so just listen. The song is called The Three of Us, and how appropriate for my little family of Three.

My parents got back from their Atlantic City Trip yesterday, so my mom was in church this morning. I felt bad yesterday because she called when she got home and I know she wanted me to come over and see her, but Holden’s birthday party was today, and I just had so much stuff to do. Cupcakes, house cleaning…gah! My Non-Catholic Catholic guilt was kicking in high gear. On the one hand, I knew I’d see her at church, then later here, for the party. On the other hand, Guilt kept whispering that This may be the last time you ever see her. See? See how I am almost Catholic?!

My mom wasn’t trying to make me feel bad. I know that. And, I did have a lot of things to do in preparation for a house full of guests. And, she hasn’t been given any kind of time line to make me think that any day could be the last. Tomorrow could be ANYONE’s last day. I know this. Still…

In church, just sitting next to her made me extremely emotional. I had to excuse myself to the ladies room at one point just to talk my tears back into their ducts. This is going to be ridiculous. Because all I can think about is that my mother is on one side of me, and she won’t be there someday. And, then that thought just leads to: my grandma is on the OTHER side of me and SHE won’t be there someday. Someday. Oh, Death. Where IS thy victory?

I think of when I was a little girl, and I really can’t remember all that much. But, I remember my mom always used to sing You Are My Sunshine to me. All the time. Everytime I hear that song, I think of my mom. These are good things to remember. I want to remember the good things, because mostly? I just remember the crap. And, I KNOW there was good somewhere in my childhood. Even if the memories come slowly, I will always have Sunshine.

I don’t remember singing that to Holden when he was a baby. I sang Annie’s Song by John Denver. I wonder if he’ll remember that when he gets older? He always used to make me sing it to him. Now? He asks me if I’ll stop singing!

I got him Kid’s Bop 12 yesterday. He hasn’t stopped with the singing and the playing of that disc, let me tell you. The favorites so far are Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne and Glamorous by Fergie. And, I had to listen to them both for myself because I was terribly interested in how they were going to cover up the swears in both songs. Just so you know, instead of Avril being the Mother Effing Princess? She’s the La la la la Princess. And, if you ain’t got no money? You take your broke SELF home. Not your broke Ass. I was relieved.

Still, I did not have to worry about what he was listening to, when what he was listening to was me. Singing John Denver to him until he fell asleep.

P.S.
Made cupcakes in ice cream cones for the party. D-lish. Took me straight back to second grade.

Last nite I got an email from a HUGE blast from my past. Actually, I initiated it, but so very long ago, I had completely forgotten that I’d emailed her in the first place.

I went to a very small, very small, small liberal arts college. I wanted to teach literature in secondary ed. Like Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society. And, then, I realized that I hated teenagers, so that wasn’t going to work.

I started off my second year not knowing what in the heck I was going to do! I still loved literature and wanted to do something with that, but didn’t know what (if only they paid people to sit around and read books. Do they? Seriously. Do they?).

I had met some guys in the theatre department and this one guy was graduating and his “final” was directing a play. He told me that the first day of auditions was a bust and could I please please just do him this favor of coming to try out. No pressure. I said yes, was absolutely fabulous and was offered the lead role. Thusly, began my College Affair with the scripty script.

So, that was one life altering thing that happened my second year of college. The other was meeting This Girl. The one I mentioned up there (see me pointing? I am.)

I lived in the dorms…I think I just have to mention one more time how ridiculously small this school was. 600 kids on campus with about 600 non-trad students. So yeah, we’re lookin’ at 1200 kids. To me this was awesome, no joke. Big Fish, Small Pond. I like it that way. Anyhoodle, our first Hall Meeting which is this, oh you know: You go sit in the hall and meet your RA and the other dingbats in your hall. So whatever. It was mandatory, blah de blah. But, there, I see this tallish, thinish, redhead with a pixie cut and a ginormous tattoo on her calf of a fairy. Immediately I have a crush, and I want to be her best. friend. ever. And, so we were.

As an adult, looking back on that time in my life…I really came into myself in college. I mean, I was one repressed teenager. You have no idea. And, I escaped into what I can only describe to you as a Majic Land. This was college for me. I loved it there. I got to become the me that I knew I wanted to be, and just couldn’t. And, I think this redhead, whom I called Twink, had a great deal to do with it. She probably has no clue how much she helped me grow.

I look so fondly back at those years spent in college. But, I am not one of those people who would like to relive it. It was great the first time around; remakes almost always suck. Mostly, I am just terribly thankful for the life that I have with my husband and our son and our dog, in our nice home in suburbia. I don’t have one single regret about my life.

I am blessed every day by the mere prescence of my son, who, on this day is eight years old. Who, I am almost certain, is taller than he was just yesterday. Who looks more like a boy and less like my baby every day. It makes my heart ache to think how fast these eight years have gone by, and how quickly the next eight will go. Tonite, I think I will hold him for a little longer. Longer than he’d like me to, but not nearly long enough for me.

Good Lord, do I suck at this. All week long I have sat here in this very chair and tried to compose a post. And, each time I got bored with my own self. But, I’m gonna do it. Now!

Saturday night Big Hands had a show. His band even got Blogged. Woo hoo. I’m showing him some linky love: our friend Christian writes a blog for our local paper noise_blog . Holler at my rock star husband. While I’m at it, visit my husband’s band and totally rock out for a minute, okay? Maybe if you look at the pics you can guess which one is mine. And, then? Your wrong answers will make me laugh! I wonder if I’ve given you too many clues, and you will be able to identify him immediately.

Also, I love going to the shows because then I can dance around like a crazed woman, and its called Supporting the Band instead of What Is That Woman’s Problem.

I’ve said it once, I’ll say it again, its totally sexy when your husband is in a band.

So, that’s that little bit…

My Parents are in Atlantic City right now for the week. A place my Mom has always wanted to go, and so…we are doing that now; going and doing things she’s always wanted to do. They are having a blast, which I am so very happy for, but the whole of it makes me weep at night into my pillow. Gah.

My sister did tell me that my father was body surfing in the ocean. If you knew my dad, you would crack right up. The mental image…Oh! My father? He is not a slight man. When we girls were pregnant, my mom would take back to back pics of us and our dad to see who looked MORE pregnant. Yep. Thats my dad.

Holden’s birthday is tomorrow. That dude will be eight. I will post on that tomorrow though.

SO…yeah. That’s all I’ve got right now. I’m going to start reading Son of a Witch. Yay for good reads!!

~Okay, so one more thing, two really…My blog date is a day early. One dollar for who ever can tell me how I can fix that (and by “who ever” I mean you, Cool Beans). AND, I’ve just been catching up on my blog reading and habitual commenting….
Dear Ladies Whose Blogs I Read,
I know that when I comment, I sometimes read as if we’ve known each other all of our lives. This is because I Like You. This is because I Like Everybody (except for those of you I despiiiise). So, I’m very sorry if this totally creeps you out, like it does me sometimes. I cannot help it. Its a sickness.

I founded this perty little website to show people who I am. And, that was suppose to be That Girl who had a baby and got married and lives her cosmopolitan little lifestyle right here in the Midwest. I wanted to be That Girl who, even though she lives in the Midwest and is a mother and a wife, hasn’t forgotton Who She Is. I wanted to be That Girl who still wants to look spectacular while picking her son up from daycare. Who is involved in the PTO AND works a 9 to 5. That Girl who still paints when she feels like it, but still wants her roses to look awesome from the curbside. That Girl who is Me, but Still She.

But I’m having a bit of an identity crisis, see. Because, as it turns out? I’m actually That Girl Whose Mother is Dying. And, I never thought I’d be her. I guess I just thought that my mother would never die! I don’t know why…it just never crossed my mind.

So all the other stuff seems a bit pithy when your mother is planning All Those Trips She Never Got to Take; when your mother is taking your whole family to DisneyWorld the week after Thanksgiving. Because you start to wonder if your mother is going to make it that long.

God’s got the whole world in His Hands, let me tell you. When she decided to forego treatment, it turns out that it wasn’t working anyway. The tumor has gotten bigger. And, its in her lungs.

And, I did not want to be That Girl who only writes about her dying mother, but I guess that’s just who I am. Today.